


Tudors-era AU

by ghostburr



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-19 18:07:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14878695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostburr/pseuds/ghostburr
Summary: some very brief reformation-era au in which secretary hamilton and lord edwardsnothing ever came of this but it's a fun thought nonetheless





	Tudors-era AU

The solid oak pew dug into the spinal cord of Alexander’s back, making him sit straighter, more alert.  _More pious,_  he supposed. Though with the recent upheavals in the kingdoms, the Secretary found it hard to concentrate on much of anything, even with thick oak planks pressing into his back. He had been at mass for nearly two hours. Behind him, a man coughed, interrupting the somber Gregorian chants that fled to the rafters, dancing around the thick purple drapery that hung in the rafters and the across the gruesome crucifix.

Alexander stole a glance at the dying man hanging above him, eyes rolling back into his head, mouth ajar in a silent scream of agony, and cringed himself. Around him, various shades of violet covered the alter, while indigo candles burned solemnly. It was Lent, and lest he forget, he had not been allowed to utter so much as a Hallelujah since the middle of February.

The man coughed again, more loudly. Alexander flushed and inhaled deeply, praying the King had bad hearing. The Scottish Secretary had once hoped to secure himself a position in the upper echelons of the Roman Catholic Church when he was a boy; when he still did not understand the meaning of pious celibacy. The coughing man cleared his throat.

Alexander turned around and the impish smiled flashed back at him. The Secretary rolled his eyes, chiding himself for not guessing the culprit sooner. Above him, several large, hollow bells rang out, signifying a new segment of the mass. Alexander had lost track of himself in his thoughts. A slim man bedecked in heavy black velvet slid into the pew beside him.

“How long do you think they’ll be going on like this?” Aaron, who had taken to styling himself Lord Edwards, whispered to him, a smile thick in his voice. Secretary Hamilton closed his eyes and pretended not to hear him.

The priest signified the sign of the cross; all but one complied. Alexander blushed deeper and fell to his knees with the rest of the congregation. To no one’s surprise, Aaron mockingly looked around and feigned confusion.

“Are you trying to get us killed?” The Secretary hissed, and pulled Aaron down in a split second.

“What in  _God’s_  name are we kneeling for, anyway?”

“We are in mass.  _This is a house of worship_. Your impiety is insufferable, Lord Edwards.” The Secretary could not even bring himself to look at his companion, knowing full well he wore a look of smug disdain.

“I’m only here because I need a bit of forgiveness for my indiscretions,” Aaron hissed back, “especially the ones last night.”

He nudged the blushing Scottish nobleman and indicated into his pocket, jingling with several gold coins.

“Think Father Whatsit up there will accept these as payment? Will I get a good spot in heaven?”

“You are appalling,” Alexander spat back, gripping the back of the pew in front of him and squeezing the wood so tight his knuckles flared white. “How dare you take advantage of the Church with your wealth? You’re no better than the Boleyns, flaunting gold where religion fails you.”

An elderly woman dripping in jewels and lilac perfume turned to face the whispering men, shooting them a look of annoyance. Aaron nodded his handsome, pale head towards her, smiling. The Secretary bit his lip, closed his eyes, and looked at the floor.

“I cannot be seen with you anymore. Least of all in a compromising situation such as this one.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I see now that you are nothing but a blind reformer,” he muttered, “ mocking the Holy Church at every turn, seeing how far you can push your agenda and your luck before you are made a head shorter. Put your coins away, Lord Edwards.”

Aaron snorted and watched at the congregation was invited to stand again. The prayer was over. The black-eyed Lord looked around, amused, as the mass of people rose to their feet as he stayed kneeling.

“Get up, you childish—“ The Secretary, as concealed as possible, grabbed the arm of the darker man and pulled him to his feet. Several other church-goers turned their heads, including the bejeweled old woman, to see what the commotion was. The Lord waved at them, flashing a pointed, sheepish grin. Secretary Hamilton covered his eyes briefly, and then fell into step with the hymn being sung.

Aaron watched the words lift from his companion’s mouth for a moment, with an almost wondrous look in his eye. Wondrous, and cynical.

“How do you do that? Sing like that?” He murmured. He absentmindedly tapped the pocked holding his coins. Alexander did not answer him.

—-

 Secretary Hamilton fled from the church quickly, as soon as the last syllable was uttered in the last prayer, Aaron close on his heels. A paper flew out of the Secretary’s leather case and Aaron scooped it up in a flash, breathless.

“Where on earth are you going in such a hurry, my good Secretary?” Lord Edwards asked unctuously. The paper was ripped from his hands by Alexander, who had all but reached the end of his patience.

“Your antics in mass this morning will not go unnoticed, my Lord,” Alexander responded icily, “And I thought you were going to speak with the priest and confess your sins? You could do with it.” He looked the black-eyed man up and down disdainfully. Aaron grinned.

“He was busy,” the Lord answered dismissively.

Alexander shook his head. “Pity,” he responded coldly, “you could do with a great confession.” The Secretary repeated his words and stuffed the papers back into his leather case, preparing for another day of mundane scribing. He remembered the list of heretics that sat on his office desk and a cold chill ran through his bones. Aaron exhaled and his breath hit the Secretary’s cheek.

“Do you remember when you took my confession?”

“No,” Alexander pushed him away and began walking, headed towards his quarters, faster. As always, Lord Edwards was not far behind.

“You can pretend like you don’t remember, but I do,” he shouted, causing several courtiers to look up from their daily walks, “I never had a stricter master than when I was at your knee, good Secretary. Divulged  _all_  my secrets, you did. With a whip and a flourish of that sharp quill pen of yours.”

Alexander stopped short and cringed. He swallowed a curse and backtracked to where Aaron stood smartly.

“I don’t care how old your family is,  _my Lord,”_  he sneered, “that cheek of yours is going to land you in flames so hot you’ll wish you’d never opened your mouth. Not even for prayer. Do I make myself clear?” He hit the proud, black velvet chest with a pointed finger.

“You wouldn’t dare threaten me,” Aaron reasoned, his bravado failing only slightly.

“This is no idle threat.”

The black-eyed Lord stepped back to take a better look at his companion. For appearances’ sake, he kept the tiny grin in place, though his heart skipped a beat as a small sliver of fear sliced through it. In the Secretary’s eyes, Aaron saw ambition to match his own—but an ambition that flew powerfully in the opposite direction.

“I see you take me seriously, then,” Alexander said, still locked in a stare, and then added for insult, “as much as you can take anything seriously.”

“So you will add me to your list of heretics, then.”

The Scottish Secretary puffed himself up, though naturally the same size as Aaron.

“If you give me cause to.”

Lord Edwards finally stepped back, his smile fading entirely. The jovial, charming Alexander of several years ago had been replaced with a machine.

“Secretary…” he began, concern etched on his features.

“I am far past the time for games, Lord Edwards.” The Secretary felt himself grow cold, and whether that was an effect of the chilly March air or the new found solidarity in his cause, Alexander did not know. The dark eyes before him watched him with some confusion, and a hint of fear. 


End file.
